


it’s ok, i wouldn’t remember me either

by MarshIsATheatreGeek



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/No Comfort, Mental Illness, Oneshot, Other, Sad Ending, Suicide, oh gosh this is a really sad one, stay safe folks !! :c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshIsATheatreGeek/pseuds/MarshIsATheatreGeek
Summary: This is it.All hope is lost.--Dear Evan Hansen,Turns out this wasn't an amazing day after all. This isn't going to be an amazing week or an amazing year, because why would it be?I know, because there's Zoe, and all my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don't even know, and doesn't know me. Maybe if I could just talk to her. Maybe nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different.I wish I was part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean face it, would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?Sincerely,Your most best, and dearest friend, Me





	it’s ok, i wouldn’t remember me either

The pen hit the wall and bounced onto the carpet with a dull thud. Connor Murphy ran his hands through his hair, --which was, for the most part, greasy and unkempt-- groaning with utter annoyance and irritation.

He had spent the last half hour writing down words that meant nothing. Words that would never repair the damage he had done. Words that would only twist and turn the knife he had embedded in their chest, and re-open the wounds they had sealed behind locked doors.

Words that would never convey how much he loved them, and how sorry he was.

Words that were just as _useless_ as him.

He heaved a heavy sigh and stood up, only to sit back down on the floor next to the carpet, and give himself time to think.

That was a mistake, because, in an instant, it all came back.

He thought of everything he'd put them --hell, put _everyone_ \-- through. The blows he had struck on the many loving individuals who wanted to help. Their shattered, pain-stricken faces, and the way their voices sounded so small and helpless. He'd wanted to think about it more, to wallow in some time and place that was near his end, yet never approaching it, but suddenly it was too much.

His eyes went glassy and his breaths became ragged, a million thoughts blurring together and coming at him all at once. How many bridges had he burned? How many chances had he been given? How many chances had he let waste away? How many times had he left people with their hearts on their sleeves, and more scars to tend to?

His hands gripped the carpet just as the tears he never knew he had cascaded down his cheeks. He cried like he had never cried before. His whole body racked with pure emotion, and so much pain.

A sob ripped through his godforsaken mouth and he couldn't stop. He wanted to _scream_ , scream so loud that whatever heavenly body that was present in the sky would hear him. He wanted to rebuild the bridges he'd destroyed, spark the passion of the boy he once was, and let him flicker into a flame, born again, but he _couldn't_.

And it _tore_ at him.

He felt the need to break himself from inside out, to get an ounce of relief knowing he got the punishments his scroll had assigned to him, but they kept on coming and welcoming him with open arms and promises of love, giving him things he didn't deserve.

" _I'm sorry..“_

He managed to choke out, knowing nobody would hear him, knowing _they_ wouldn't hear him.

And then it stopped, an eerie calm swept over him and he felt nothing at all.

His heart grew heavy, desolate and cold.

_He was numb again._

The tears that had poured freely from his eyes had disappeared, leaving only tracks of wet behind them. They would dry soon enough, and then no signs of his sadness would be evident.

He wanted to care, _needed_ to care, but he didn't, he just felt numb.

He was suffocating, barely able to breathe. The walls felt too tight. Everything around him was like one big trap that was trapping him in its bottomless maw, dragging him kicking and screaming into oblivion.

Fear was sinking into his very being, clouding his senses.

Something snapped.

He rose to his feet and began to sprint.

He barely heard the door opening or the slap of his shoes following soon after as they hit the ground beneath him, nor did he process that he was running through a pitch-black night sky, choosing his direction just as indecisively as an inexperienced gambler chooses his cards.

He didn't know why he was doing this, he didn't know why he didn't _stop_. The only explanation he could give was that something pulled at him, something _animalistic_. It forced a reaction so strong out of him that it couldn't be controlled by any rational thought he had left.

It was as if an instinct mankind had outgrown had seized him by the throat and flung him back into it's old, rusty beginnings that screamed _flee_ , _desert_ , _run_.

He could feel his lungs beginning to burn, but he didn't _care_. He needed to go somewhere, _anywhere_ away from the rapidly growing misery he once called home.

Laughs, cries and screams of all kinds echoed in his head, each another piece of a haunting symphony, and he needed to block it out, all of the noise and the static and the hurt because _he couldn't take it, and-_

_Wait._

His eyes strained to see in the darkness, and found a familiar shadow slowly coming into his vision. He slowed his relentless pace to a jog and stared up at the place's ancient sign. A symbol of what had been its glory days.

He smiled softly in remembrance.

Most people would find its abandoned-looking exterior off-putting, but Connor thought it made it look more human. Though it had been worn down over the years, it still breathed of the pleasant memories it had harbored in the years before.

It remained unyielding to time's wrath, surviving what many would have considered the death of its foundations.

Truly, this remarkable place was, and still is, a beacon of hope, a warrior who kept fighting, even when the battle for its life seemed too daunting, it had made it out alive.

And to think, once upon a time, he had thought of it as nothing more than a lowly orchard.

He entered the sanctuary, the rusty, iron gates slamming shut behind him as he made his way into the thicker patches of a little woods.

He admired the shadows of the grass, flowing in the docile wind's embrace, and looked up to see a forest of trees enveloping all of his sight.

The apples hanging from their ancient branches glistened in the night, crickets answering silent voices that echoed just as suddenly as firecrackers.

He felt a sense of belonging stir from within him.

For once, he had managed to completely stifle all of the anxiety, all of the fear, despair, anger and regret, and _really_ learned to listen.

He heard the birds in the air melodiously singing songs they had sung for longer then he could ever imagine. The many whispers of the land joining in to form a chorus. Making the entire orchard alive with undisclosed, unrevealed, but still absolutely beautiful, music.

The leaves below him crunched softly as he sat down next to a thorn bush, busily rummaging through his bag.

The bottle of pills was soon in his sights, he clutched it tightly in his hand and felt a sinking sensation steadily growing in his chest. He forced it out of him with what little will to keep on fighting he had left, allowing himself to absorb the quiet, the calm, the feeling of being submerged in serenity.

He supposed that the comfort this orchard offered him was life's way of bidding him Adieu. Perhaps the strings of his existence intertwined with fate itself had prepared for the undoing of his own thread long before he was created.

Maybe the world knew he would give up and end his miserable chapter of the story, moving on to an all-encompassing stillness even in his youth, when he was as foolish as any child ought to be before their coming of age.

And then he was laughing, a dry, wheezing cackle of a laugh, --comparable to a broken record player-- without the faintest idea why. The revelation only made him laugh harder.

Needles that had clawed at his insides rabidly were now losing their efficiency, like hot coals being submerged in icy water, the hollowness and emptiness was still there, but it was cool, almost calm. He knew he would have to feel something other than numbness, but nothing like _this_!

The next few things happened quicker than a blink of an eye, the pills were downed, tears were shed, yet an almost peaceful look crossed over his face, and he began to wonder briefly whether this was what _happiness_ felt like-

Then the lights went out.

 

—

 

The police reported the finding of a young male's body in the Apples Smiles Orchard, pills were among the items they found.

Suicide was the obvious cause of his death.

Upon further inspection, a letter was found in his back pocket; it read:

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Turns out this wasn't an amazing day after all._

_This isn't going to be an amazing week or an amazing year, because why would it be?_

_I know, because there's Zoe, and all my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don't even know, and doesn't know me. Maybe if I could just talk to her. Maybe nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different._

_I wish I was part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean face it, would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?_

_Sincerely,_

_Your most best, and dearest friend, Me_

**Author's Note:**

> oh gosh, this was a really sad one to write!!! : C
> 
> i was feeling for an angst story and so i wrote one D : !!!
> 
> please take my condolences, apologies and tissues for killing our lovely son connor murphy !! : (
> 
> stay safe folks, and please contact ur local suicide hotline if u feel this way or if u think a friend or loved one does!!!!! : C
> 
> ~marsh <3


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